Our beautiful foster daughter has moved on. It’s what you know you are working towards, and then the day comes when the social services number pops up on your caller ID and you answer, thinking it’s about a doctor’s appointment or an upcoming college fair, and instead it’s a new plan, effective immediately.
My face must have been a sight for my kiddos to see, because my first reaction was sadness. I am human. Then I remembered that this is a SUCCESS and I felt joy. And then a twinge of loss.
This is foster care. So rarely is it black or white. It stretches what you think you deserve. It questions your motives. It feels topsy turvey sometimes, that outcomes that sting for your own heart, are what’s best for theirs, so you celebrate them in the moment and cry alone in your shower for your own selfish wishes.
What I know is that the grey is where God works. The grey is where my heart and faith and family and marriage and friendships have been deepened and strengthened. I think that this grey area has forever changed all of us, and I am so thankful that we said yes.
Yesterday found me with some quiet time so I went and sat in her room. I remembered the time before she came when I would sit in that same space and imagine who would sleep there. Now it smells like her and there is paint missing from the walls from where she duct-taped posters to it. It’s history is richer because she was a part of it.
And so is mine.